Chapter 2: The Wedding

“I barely recognize myself in the mirror,” I muttered under my breath, the ivory fabric of the gown clinging to me like a foreign skin. The delicate lace sleeves felt suffocating, as though they were holding me together when I could barely breathe. My reflection stared back with wide, uncertain eyes, a far cry from the composed bride I was supposed to be.  

This wasn’t a wedding. Not really. It was a transaction, a merger of lives and assets. And yet, here I was, standing in a private room of a grand cathedral, draped in a designer gown that probably cost more than my family’s entire debt.  

The door creaked open, and my stomach churned as I turned to see him—Maximilian Grey. He entered with the air of a man who owned the world and everyone in it. His tailored tuxedo fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and cold, unyielding presence. His steel-gray eyes flicked over me, unreadable, and I felt like a specimen under a microscope.  

“You’re nervous,” he said flatly, stepping closer. It wasn’t a question.  

I swallowed hard, trying to summon some semblance of composure. “Wouldn’t you be? If you were in my position?”  

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Fortunately, I’ll never be in your position.”  

That stung more than I cared to admit. He was right, of course. Maximilian Grey didn’t have to beg or barter for survival. He dictated the terms, and the world bent to his will.  

“I trust you understand the importance of today,” he continued, his voice low and measured. “This is about appearances. The guests, the media—none of them can suspect that this is anything less than a fairy tale.”  

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.  

He moved closer, his gaze hardening. “Eliza, I need you to hold your head high out there. You’re Mrs. Grey now, whether you like it or not. Act the part.”  

There it was—the reminder of what I’d signed up for. The weight of his name settled over me like a chain.  

“I’ll do my best,” I whispered.  

His eyes softened, just for a moment, so fleeting I almost missed it. “Good.”  

He extended his arm, and I hesitated before placing my hand on it. His touch was warm, unexpected against his icy demeanor.  

As we stepped into the grand hall, the murmur of voices fell into a hushed awe. Chandeliers glittered above us, casting a golden glow over the crowd of elite guests. I felt their eyes on me, assessing, judging. My heart pounded, my palms damp against Maximilian’s sleeve.  

“Breathe,” he said under his breath, his voice a steady anchor.  

I forced myself to inhale deeply, my steps steadying as we approached the altar. The officiant stood waiting, an impassive expression on his face as though this was just another deal to seal.  

The ceremony began, each word feeling heavy and surreal. I barely heard the vows, my own voice trembling as I repeated them. Maximilian’s tone was firm, devoid of any warmth or hesitation.  

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant announced, and my stomach flipped.  

Maximilian turned to me, his expression unreadable. His hand cupped my cheek briefly, a touch that was neither tender nor harsh before his lips brushed against mine. It was a kiss for a show, a seal of a contract rather than a declaration of love.  

The applause erupted, deafening and hollow. I forced a smile, my face aching from the effort. Maximilian’s hand rested on my lower back as he guided me down the aisle, his grip firm and possessive.  

—--

The reception was a blur of glittering chandeliers, endless toasts, and forced smiles. Maximilian was the perfect host, exuding charm and confidence as he worked the room. I, on the other hand, felt like an imposter among the polished guests. Their eyes lingered on me, some with curiosity, others with barely concealed disdain.  

“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Maximilian murmured as he leaned close during a brief moment of privacy.  

His proximity sent a shiver down my spine. “Easier said than done.”  

He smirked, a flicker of amusement breaking through his icy facade. “You’ll get used to it.”  

But would I? Could I?  

As the night wore on, I felt the weight of the stares and whispers. My hands trembled as I reached for a glass of champagne, the delicate flute nearly slipping from my grasp.  

Before I could make a fool of myself, Maximilian’s hand covered mine, steadying it. His touch was firm, and grounding. “Enough,” he said quietly. “We’ve done our part.”  

He led me away from the crowd, his pace brisk as though he couldn’t bear to stay a moment longer.  

—---

The suite was as grand and impersonal as the rest of the day. High ceilings, marble floors, and an enormous bed that seemed to mock the distance between us.  

Maximilian loosened his tie, his movements sharp and precise. I stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next.  

“You should get some rest,” he said without looking at me. “We have a lot to discuss tomorrow.”  

His words were dismissive, yet his gaze lingered on me for a moment too long.  

“What exactly do you expect from me?” I blurted, the question tumbling out before I could stop myself.  

He turned his expression hardening. “I expect you to honor the terms of our agreement.”  

“And what about—” My voice faltered. “What about us?”  

His laugh was cold, humorless. “There is no us, Eliza. This is a partnership, nothing more.”  

The finality in his tone sent a chill through me. But before I could respond, a sharp knock at the door interrupted us.  

Maximilian crossed the room in a few strides, opening the door to reveal a stern-faced man holding an envelope.  

“For you, sir,” the man said, his tone clipped.  

Maximilian took the envelope, his brow furrowing as he read the contents. His expression darkened, the air around him seeming to shift.  

“This changes everything,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.  

I stepped closer, my pulse quickening. “What is it?”  

He didn’t answer, his gaze snapping at me with an intensity that stole my breath.  

“Pack your things,” he said abruptly. “We’re leaving. Now.”